


Love sought is good but given unsought is better

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks after Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven stops frequenting the tavern owned by her beloved (and diminutive) godfathers, a certain Emmett Swan is hired by Grumpy - a difficult employer as many maids and barkeeps can attest. Mr. Swan fast gains the admiration and respect of all the regulars at the tavern for his fast wit, sympathetic ear, knowledge of the best courtly gossip, and ability to pour a damn fine tankard of ale. As to the childhood and history of Mr. Emmett Swan, no one thinks to ask him any more questions when he pulls a set of liar’s dice out of his blue waistcoat and displays them with a winning smile and the offer to play for a free pint. The fact that none of the opponents ever seem to win that free pint is another matter altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love sought is good but given unsought is better

**Author's Note:**

> title from Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” the inspiration behind this cross-dressing fic

Twin frowns greet Emma when she first suggests the idea - identical furrows in royal brows and a bit of a tick to her father’s eye that hadn’t been there before Emma’s first ball and the fair princess had pulled a concealed dagger on the duke who had gotten a bit handsy with the sixteen-year-old.

(Not that the nerves were about Emma herself. Charming had taught her that particular move after all. “Our daughter is too beautiful, Snow!” Emma had overheard him raving one night in a hallway. “And you are entirely to blame!”)

(Snow had only kissed Charming and teasingly reminded him that he was no slouch either.)

(But then Snow had taken to a few extra goblets of wine whenever another eligible suitor was paraded in front of the Crown Princess.)

Emma sighs and sinks heavily into the thick brocade cushion of the loveseat. “What is the issue? I shall be perfectly safe. I have frequented the tavern for years without any problems.”

Snow and Charming exchange looks and the Queen’s bottom lip is drawn between her teeth.

“But why can’t you continue doing so as a  _lady_?” Charming asks. “Is it- do you not wish-” he stutters until Snow lay a palm on his leg.

“Is there a reason you would rather dress as a gentleman, Emma?” Snow asks.

Emma throws back her head and lets out a bit of laughter, breaking the tension in the small parlor and erasing the tick in her father’s eye. “I enjoy dresses as much as you do, Mother,” she chuckles. “But if I am to work at the tavern in complete disguise, then this is a much better plan than dyeing my hair or stuffing a pillow beneath my gown.”

“And-” Snow falters this time, “tell me again why a disguise is necessary?”

The Crown Princess tucks her feet beneath her legs on the loveseat and sighs. “Mother, when you were my age you were a princess in exile. And Father, you were a shepherd in a remote village. This kingdom flourishes because of those roots. You know what the people need and they love and respect you. You understand them and they understand you too.” She gestures to the dainty parlor with piles of trinkets and impressive collection of expensive books. “I was lucky enough to live here, in all this finery and glamour. And though you have striven to raise me to be as down-to-earth as possible, I cannot truly meet and befriend the people of this kingdom while they scrape and bow at my every movement.”

The King and Queen exchange glances again and Emma fancies that her mother’s fingers are twitching in a desire for a glass of wine.

“We will grant it,” Snow says finally.

-/-

Two weeks after Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven stops frequenting the tavern owned by her beloved (and diminutive) godfathers, a certain Emmett Swan is hired by Grumpy - a difficult employer as many maids and barkeeps can attest. Mr. Swan fast gains the admiration and respect of all the regulars at the tavern for his fast wit, sympathetic ear, knowledge of the best courtly gossip, and ability to pour a damn fine tankard of ale.

As to the childhood and history of Mr. Emmett Swan, no one thinks to ask him any more questions when he pulls a set of liar’s dice out of his blue waistcoat and displays them with a winning smile and the offer to play for a free pint.

The fact that none of the opponents ever seem to win that free pint is another matter altogether.

-/-

Although Captain Killian Jones, known better by his moniker, Hook, frequents many taverns in his journeys across the seas of the Enchanted Forest, they all seem to blend together for him. One tankard of ale is as good as another. The same applies to the whores and wenches who also frequent the establishments. Hook’s repeat business becomes a badge of honor for taverns across the realm, although, in truth, the Captain would have to remember arriving at the tavern in the first place to be able to intentionally patron it again.

And to remember he would have to end a night without blacking out.

The large tavern in Misthaven’s port is not his usual watering hole. Killian Jones tends to favor places that are a bit more dark, more dim. This one is well-lit and bustling with a family-friendly atmosphere. There are even a few children laughing in a corner with a couple he assumes to be their parents. The sight strikes Killian with a pang of something - is it regret? longing? No matter, it is something unpleasant that can only be washed away with a stomach full of rum and perhaps a lap full of woman.

“Lad!” He slaps his open palm against the bar to gather the attention of the barkeep, turned in conversation with another patron. “Rum for the Captain before you see to me crew.”

Lovely green meets his gaze and when the surprisingly long lashes flutter for a moment, the barkeep gives him the most obvious once-over Killian has ever received from a man. The look makes the Captain’s back straighten just a bit and he wonders if the tips of his ears are turning warm from embarrassment or exhaustion.

“Rum for the Captain?” His voice is breathy and the smirk on his lips makes Killian feel more disarmed than he has in ages. “Praytell,  _Captain_ , what Navy you sail for. In this tavern we serve those who are loyal to our Queen Snow White.” The boy raises a brow in clear challenge and Killian his happy to accept.

The pirate holds up his hook and the bag of coins dangling from the dangerous appendance, dropping the riches onto the bar and grinning when the wealth pours from the pouch. “Pirates sail loyal to no Queen, lad, But I cannot imagine the fairest of them all would turn down our hard-won coin, pillaged from her enemies and spent to further her economy.”

The boy picks up a coin from the bar and, with deft fingers, places it in his waistcoat and another coin in the till. “I shall make sure that the Queen sees your coin, then, Captain,” he chuckles with a wink.

Killian is too amused by his cheek to cut the lad for stealing from him.

“Make that two rums, my boy - one for the Captain and one for the honorary pirate!” He claps the barkeep on the shoulder and sets himself down on a stool.

“Tell me, lad,” Killian exclaims, leaning forward with a sweeping hand motion once all his crew has been served their first round and the two of them took their first sips of rum, “how old you you? Your cheeks look as smooth as a whore’s ass.”

He raises his brow again and turns faintly pink. “My father prefers smooth cheeks and taught me how to keep my appearance neat and tidy.” He runs a knuckle over his jaw. “I am eight and twenty, though perhaps I do not look it.”

The pirate knocks back another gulp of the drink. There is something about this lad that sets him at ease, that makes his tongue loose. “My father was gone before I had hair on my balls.” He scratches the short hairs on his face and grins lasciviously. “Had to learn for myself that women prefer a bit of beard burn between their thighs. Gives them something to remember you by.”

The boy is most definitely pink now and his fingers clutch the bottle of rum with obvious discomfort.

“Have you never pleased a woman that way, lad? I promise you, though it may not be obvious, the benefits are plentiful.” Killian chances a look around the tavern, searching for a woman to catch his eye.

“No, Captain, I have not,” he says, pulling the pirate from his perusal. “Although I would be happy to hear any advice you have on the matter.”

Killian grins, finishes his rum, and offers his hand to the boy to shake. “Captain Killian Jones, happy to help my fellow man.”

“Emmett Swan.” Though his fingers are dainty, the shake is firm.

Killian’s smile widens and he grasps the neck of the rum bottle to pour himself more. “Swan. What a pleasure to meet you.”

-/-

The coin does find its way to her mother, although when she tells the story, she leaves out way he smelled of salt and spiced rum (and the hour he spent describing his sexual exploits and how Emma’s fingers had stroked her own folds that evening to the memory of his tales and his tongue tracing his bottom lip.)

-/-

“Captain Hook!” Emma exclaims when he appears in the tavern the next evening. She shoots Grumpy a _Don’t tell my mother_  look and he responds with a  _Don’t touch the pirate_  look. “What brings you back to our humble establishment?”

“You, Swan!” he exclaims with a smirk, passing at least three leering women in order to seat himself in front of her. “After my tutelage, lad, I wondered if you put my words to good use.”

Emma bites her lip and wishes she had a way of stopping the blush from warming her entire face. She tries to hide it with a gulp of ale and running the back of her hand across her mouth. “Actually, yes,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “You should have seen the way this lass writhed beneath my touch.”

Hook grins. “I knew you had it in you, boy.”

“I had a good teacher,” Emma retorts, regaining her wits and pouring the Captain a mug of rum. “Tell me, Hook, you must have learned those tricks over the course of many years. Where have you and your crew sailed?”

The pirate takes a hearty drink of the liquor and slams the mug back on the bar with a sigh. “The better question, lad, is where have we not sailed.”

-/-

Several months pass before Killian finds himself in Misthaven’s port again. When he realizes the date and the memories flash in his mind’s eye, he wonders if he sailed there on purpose, drawn close to where it happened - the location of the tragedy.

He usually chooses to sit in a dark corner of a tavern on this anniversary, to get lost in a crowd and drink himself into oblivion. Instead, his feet carry him to a familiar establishment.

Emmett takes one look at him, green eyes opening in surprise and then narrowing in concern, before setting the rag over his shoulder onto the bar, turning to whisper something in the ear of one of the dwarves, and coming to Killian’s side.

“Drink?” Emmett holds up a full bottle of rum and Killian nods dumbly. The two make their way to the darkest corner the tavern can boast, and the barkeep pours them both healthy amounts.

Killian’s tongue grows thick with drink before it grows light with the words pouring forth. He has never spoken like this before - of the way Milah’s smile brought light into his life again and how she would boss his crew around like a true captain and the way the light drained from her eyes as her coward of a husband closed his claw around her heart.

“You- you have suffered a great deal.” Emmett’s palm rests on his shoulder and he leans into the contact a bit. He needs to be touched, dammit, and the thought of a woman (who is not Milah) makes him feel nauseous.

“Aye.” Killian’s head lolls and when he slumps against the lad’s side he hopes that the movement will be excused for drunkenness and not an inability to hold himself together any longer. The hand moves to his other shoulder and squeezes.

“I have never been in love.” The boy speaks almost to himself. “I envy your bravery in letting yourself do so, Hook. I am afraid I could never trust anyone with my heart. I would just think they are seeking something other than my heart.”

Killian grunts and his nose nudges against Emmett’s neck. “Do you mean seeking your cock or seeking free drinks, lad?”

Emmett laughs. It is almost a giggle and the melody is like tinkling chimes. “Both, I suppose. In a manner of speaking.”

“You can trust me, lad,” the pirate murmurs against the barkeep’s soft skin. He pats a slender thigh.

“Trust a pirate?”

“Aye.” His hand moves up to clap Emmett’s sternum and the boy flinches at the touch. “You have a good heart. I do not wish to break it.”

-/-

The last thing Killian remembers is Emmett’s fingers gripped around his wrist and his waist, leading him to the Captain’s Quarters and gently laying him down in his bunk.

“Will you be working tomorrow night?” Killian slurs. His hook wraps around the boy’s elbow to keep him from moving away too quickly.

Emmett seems to struggle with himself before nodding. “Yes.”

“Tomorrow night there shall be no tears. We shall have a merry evening and go home with wenches to satisfy our every carnal need.”

The boys makes no response but the corners of his lips turn down.

After that everything becomes black.

-/-

Emma cannot bring herself to pretend to be someone she is not.

She arrives for her shift at the tavern wearing a pale blue dress, hair falling in soft curls down her back.

“Where is Emmett?” Grumpy asks with his signature scowl. “That pirate crew is back and I could really use his help.”

“Emmett is taking a personal day,” Emma says with a scowl of her own, helping herself to a half a bottle of rum and making her way to a private table away from where she held Hook in her arms the night before. “Emma needs to get drunk,” she continues over her shoulder.

The Crown Princess settles in her chair and waits to see how she can torture herself. It was never her intention to let her heart get involved with this whole mess. He was supposed to be a handsome fantasy, a ruthless pirate with a drinking problem that she could imagine plundering  _her_. But somehow he snuck into her heart.

She found herself envying his lost love.

So she takes her first gulp of rum, lets it slide down her throat and warm her stomach, and fixes her eyes on the door.

-/-

Emmett is not behind the bar.

When he inquires about his whereabouts, the tavern owner merely scowls and grunts something about hiring where he never should have hired. Killian seats himself at the same table where he drank himself into a depressing oblivion and scans the bar.

His gaze connects for a moment with a beautiful blonde but her sharp green gaze only reminds him of Emmett’s eyes.

Killian finishes three mugs of rum before giving up in disgust. He slams his coin down on the bar and barks at the owner, “Tell Swan I shall be back tomorrow if he chooses to show his miserable face.”

The dwarf pockets the coin and leans forward with a glare. “Why don’t you leave Emmett alone,  _pirate_? There is obviously a reason the boy didn’t show up for his shift tonight.”

Fighting against his instinct to take the money back, the Captain digs his hook into the worn wood of the bar. “In that case, tell Swan something else. Tell him to try something new - trust.” With a grimace, Killian releases his moniker and strides out of the tavern, desperately wondering what this ache is around his heart and why it has been inspired by a silly barkeep.

(One with eyes like the sea and nimble fingers and a fast wit.)

-/-

“Killian.”

Like two nights prior, Emmett holds a large bottle of rum. But this is the first time Killian has heard the lad use his first name, the sound sending a surprising shiver down the pirate’s spine. The Captain smiles and tilts his head.

“Good to see you, Swan. Last night-”

“Was my mistake.” Emmett leans against the bar and crosses his legs at the ankles. “Can we forget it ever happened?”

Killian nods. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Good.” Emmett claps Killian’s shoulder. “Let’s go drink this somewhere else tonight. The tavern feels stuffy.”

“Are you sure your boss will not-”

The barkeep cuts him off with a smirk and a shake of the head. “Grumpy will just deal with it.” He lays a handful of coins on the bar as if they are worthless and steps toward the door, not waiting for Killian to follow. “I’m not afraid of him.”

-/-

They end up sitting on the dock, feet dangling above the water so Killian feels five again, small in the face of such greatness, almost afraid that the sea will swell up and take him away to never be seen again.

Swan hiccups. “I took the largest rum bottle we had. I expected it to last longer.”

Killian extracts the bottle from his fingers (ignoring the jolt that goes through him when their skin brushes) and tosses it into the dark waters. Perhaps it will appease whatever gods rule over the sea. “I believe we do not need any more rum, Swan.” He turns to eye the boy and blinks at the way the dock seems to sway beneath him. “We are properly drunk.”

The barkeep nods and beams. It is large and carefree. Killian wishes to trace it with his fingers, to make this moment tactile. Emmett has carefully constructed armor that keeps him from being fully open. There is a tension in the air that Killian wants to wipe away with a firm thumb along the lad’s soft cheek.

“I should be careful,” Emmett titters. “When I get drunk I tend to make stupid mistakes.”

“Such as?”

He leans back on his elbows and surveys Killian with bleary eyes. “The last time I was this drunk some asshole in the tavern thought he could touch me wherever he wanted.” Emmett draws his boot onto the dock and clumsily pulls out a dagger. “I showed him this beauty but I was not quite as skilled as I am sober.” The dagger lands on the dock and the lad leans forward, blowing hot, rum-scented breath in Killian’s face. “He would have taken it from me and skinned me alive had Grumpy not intervened!” He ends his story with a bark of laughter but Killian only frowns.

“Does that happen to you often, lad? Men trying to touch you?”

Emmett leans back all the way so his back and head rest against the unforgiving wood. His eyes close. “Since I was sixteen.”

“And yet you are out here with me.” Killian glances around the empty shipyard. “All alone.”

“I guess I decided to trust you.”

There is a lump in Killian’s throat making it hard to swallow. He requested trust - grunted it to the annoyed dwarf the night prior - but never expected it to be given so freely.

“Swan.” He suddenly feels sober again. “We should go.”

“Huh?” Emmett cracks open an eye, scowls, and closes it once more. “Why?”

“I just think- I think we should go.” Killian tucks his feet under him and stands on shaky legs. Getting Emmett up comes to be an even greater challenge. Though the lad is a slender thing, he is hardly capable of holding up his own weight. Whenever Killian works a hand or hook under his armpit, the boy squeals like a pig and wriggles out of his grasp. Killian finally hoists him in the air in his arms.

Emmett’s head lolls until it comes to rest against Killian’s shoulder. The lad smells of clean soap and cinnamon. The scent fills Killian’s senses the entire walk back to the tavern. He finds himself inhaling deeply so he can commit it to memory, what it is like to hold Swan in his arms and breathe him in. The tavern is bustling still when they arrive and there is a moment when Killian fears the dwarf will strike him for bringing the lad back unconcious.

“Drunk himself into oblivion, this one,” Killian explains with a quirk of the lips. The proprietor is hardly amused.

“Take Em to room sixteen upstairs. I’ll deal with it later.” Killian can feel his eyes on him as he carries Emmett through the tavern. He wonders what makes the dwarf so protective of a barkeep.

(He also wondered how the lad could abandon work for two nights in a row and throw coin on the bar as if he had plenty more of his own. But those were thoughts for a more sober mind.)

“Kill- Killian?” Emmett’s eyes are piercing in the dim light of the room. He can remember doing this for Milah at times - tucking her into bed, stroking her cheek and kissing her forehead as she escaped into the blissful sleep of the drunk without nightmares of how she left her son behind.

“I am here, Swan.” Killian grasps the hand searching for him despite the barkeep’s closed eyes. “I am right here.”

“Will you stay with me?” Emmett slurs. His fingers grasp Killian’s tighter and an echoing squeeze constricts the pirate’s chest.

In that moment, Killian tosses aside good form and propriety and his silent vows to be worthy of Emmett’s trust. It is a force beyond his control that whispers, “Aye,” and leans him forward to brush his lips against the lad’s.

(His lips are so soft that a moan sounds deep in the Captain’s throat.)

“Killian?” Emmett’s eyes flutter open and smiles. Killian is still close enough that their noses are touching and he can count every fleck of hazel in those beautiful eyes. “Did you kiss me?”

“I’m sorry, Swan, I-”

“No.” He shakes his head slightly and their noses bump against one another. “S’alright. I wanted you to.”

The second kiss is bolder, stronger, and this time it is Emmett who moans. Killian seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. The lad tastes like the same rum they have been sharing, but there is a sweetness on his tongue that makes that lump reappear in Killian’s throat and his heart clench.

“Swan,” he whispers when they break apart. Killian runs kisses down Emmett’s smooth, soft jaw, the line he has admired since he first talked to the lad. “What are we doing?” His lips trail across Emmett’s neck and he works a bruise into the pale skin.

“We’re kissing, pirate,” Emmett sighs. “It works better if you do not talk.” His fingers dig into Killian’s hair and hold him in place, arching into his touch with a gasp. The sound goes straight to Killian’s cock and he squirms a bit.

Emmett seems to guess the dilemma because he laughs and pulls Killian away. Lip caught between his teeth, the barkeep reaches between Killian’s legs and cups the length of the pirate. “Let me tell you a secret, Captain. I’ve helped other men with their frustrations and I have been fantasizing about helping you with yours.” With his free hand, Emmett lifts the hook to his mouth and drags the cool metal across his lips. His tongue darts out to caress the appendage and Killian shivers in want.

Killian turns off his mind as he stands before Emmett, sitting in the bed with his mouth full of cock and gleeful eyes. He tries not to think that it is a lad, not a lass, moaning around his length. But Emmett will not let him forget. Not with those dancing green eyes and the way his scent surrounds Killian like a lover’s embrace.

When the pirate finally stiffens and releases himself, Swan swallows noisily and delicately cleans him off with his mouth.

“Mmmmm,” Swan moans, one hand caressing his arse and the other wiping at the corners of his own mouth. “You taste amazing.”

Killian bites his bottom lip. “Would you,” he makes to reach for Emmett’s own cock, “like me to do something for you?”

The lad swats him away with a chuckle. He appears to have sobered up considerably. “I’m fine,” he laughs. “Why don’t you go back to your ship?”

“Is that-” Killian recoils. “Is that it?”

Emmett’s eyes widen and he stands, looking shorter than Killian has ever seen him. His boots, discarded at the foot of the bed, must have had heels. “Do you want there to be more? I hadn’t heard that the fearsome Captain Hook bedded men.”

Killian tries to gather all the swagger he can when his pants are around around his ankles and another man’s breath smells of his cock.

“Perhaps because the fearsome Captain Hook has never met Emmett Swan before.”

A green gaze darts between Killian’s eyes. “What do you want this to be, Killian?”

“Whatever you want, Swan.”

Emmett takes a deep breath and steps away from Killian, facing the wall and staring for a moment before turning. “You said you set sail in the morning. You should go. If you still feel… the same way the next time you come through Misthaven, I will be at the tavern. We can decide then.” The boy’s soft lips are on his cheek before Killian can gather a response.

“Goodbye, Captain,” Swan whispers, slipping out the door.

-/-

When she arrives back at the castle, she does not sleep.

-/-

Life returns to normal (or as normal as it is for royalty). Emma does not frequent the tavern as often. It makes her restless, waiting and wondering if Killian will really return. Every day he does not, she considers that perhaps he really changed his mind. That he decided what he wanted was to get his and get gone.

(But there is a larger part of her that believes him. That thinks he would not have befriended her if he did not really like her. And he would not have kissed her if he did not really love her. What would he have to gain by taking a penniless male lover? Nothing - that is the answer.)

(Of course, that is something even more terrifying to consider.)

-/-

Snow and Charming make their way to the tavern every once in a while. Some nights they bring their daughter Emma and others they are waited upon by the clever Emmett. He converses easily with patrons both new and old, and amazes the royal couple with his knowledge of the gossip in town and the tidbits from other kingdoms, picked up by traveling merchants and loose-tongued sailors.

It is on such a night that the cry of “Swan!” from the door brings silence to the entire tavern and all eyes turn to the pirate all in black with a wide smile and desperate eyes. “Swan, I stayed away as long as I could but I could not stay away any longer.”

Killian Jones, known as Captain Hook, the ruthless pirate who commands the dreaded Jolly Roger, jumps over the bar to land in front of a wide-eyed barkeep.

“Emmett, I love you,” he whispers, the sound echoing around the silent tavern. “I have missed you every day that we have parted. Say you will join my crew and set sail with me.”

“Killian? Are you sure?” Emma’s hands anchor his beaming, rough face and a ridiculous smile of her own is threatening to split her face in two.

He nods. “I have never been so sure of anything.”

Emma kisses him. She kisses him because she can. She kisses him because he loves her. And she kisses him because  _she_ loves  _him_ , dammit, and it feels so good to get to kiss him.

“Killian,” she whispers against his lips when the kiss breaks. “I have a secret to tell you.”

“Whatever it is, it changes nothing.”

She laughs at that one, licking her lips when she has caught her breath and feeling her heart stutter at the amusement and confusion in his eyes. “You say that now,” she teases. “Just wait.”

-/-

In the end, she does not set sail with him (at least not immediately). Princesses don’t really do that kind of thing. But he seems happy enough to stay at the palace for a fortnight as he get to know Crown Princess Emma, sans lies, san schemes.

(Not sans trousers, though. She rather likes the trousers.)

(Well, sans trousers once or twice. But only so she can finally learn how that beard burn feels on her thighs.)

 


End file.
